Experimental
by wallflora
Summary: When the Medic is on the verge of completing his experimental Medigun, he finds he needs a willing subject. The Engineer doesn't at all realize what he just signed up for.


The medic's hands were aching. As he paged through his scrawled notes he could understand why. The austere clock on the wall already read 3:24. Wasn't it a few moments ago when he decided to study that cell one last time so he could be in bed by 11:15? Either way, the man's eyes were already closing. Shuffling his papers one last time, he stood up to leave the laboratory.

His mind was so consumed in cellular respiration and his eyes so sore, that he barely noticed the figure in the doorway. The figure leaned against the door frame ever so casually, and then spoke in almost a whisper, as if not to wake the medic.

"Up late too there, partner?" he said, drumming his right index finger on his thigh. The answer was pretty obvious, but the engineer felt it'd be more courteous to ask. The medic only readjusted his glasses in response. From the covered birdcage behind him came a muffled coo. "You're keeping your little buddy up, doc."

This time, the medic had the awareness to nod. He shuffled forward and flipped off the lights. With an energetic sidestep, the engineer cleared the doorway and the medic continued his shuffle without so much of a sideways glance. The two made the sharp right down the corridor to their barracks. The only sounds were the two man's footsteps and the dull clink of whatever various apparatuses were in the engineer's tool belt bouncing against each other.

"So, what were you doing in there? Sewing some organs together? Brooding some mutant columbidae?"

"Nein… just some little experiments with my healing methods. Routine. Uh, rather mundane, actually."

The engineer grinned a gap toothed grin. "You and me both, doc. Tinkerin' with the sentry system is one of my favorite things to do when I can't sleep."

"I _could_ sleep fine, my friend. I just got caught up in what I was working on."

"Whatever you say, buddy."

With that the two parted ways. The engineer rubbed his bare head; the medic wove his fingers together and clenched them. The doors to their bedrooms opened with a dull creak and both men climbed into their cots without even bothering to change. All through the night they shifted, opened their eyes, flipped over. When 6 AM came, a harsh siren would sound throughout the whole facility followed by a hoarse "Get up, idiots" or something to that effect.

And it did sound, and the two men sat up in their dull cots. The engineer almost rolled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the floorboards with a thud.

The medic on the other hand, almost immediately stood up, dressed and prepared himself for a gruesome day on the battlefield. His backpack was as heavy as it always was- filled with bandages, a few scalpels, and a pair of forceps, sutures and other things used for a quick fix in the field. He needn't worry about things like bone setting or a wheelchair- as that was when his job was done and the respawn system's began. There was no need for longterm fixes- just something to stop the bleeding long enough for a few more shots to be fired.

But after bandaging the scout's wounds for the 5th time that day, Medic felt the need for more. He knew there was a way: a way to bypass all the petty first aid, a way to heal the body better and faster than the body could heal itself. A more efficient way to complete his gruesome job.

All he needed was a willing subject: the hardest part of his research, he figured. He spent the entire day on the field wondering whom it was he could ask, if anyone. He was almost ready to conduct the experiment- in fact if all went well he could conduct it tonight.

So he finished immersing unicellular organisms in that sweet red vapor he noticed sometimes trailed out from the pipes in the respawn room, that night. He was now grateful rather than irritated when the short figure appeared again in doorway. The medic heard the soft footsteps and finished scribbling down the approximate growth of the planeria after exposure. He slowly turned in the wheeled chair to face the doorway.

"Guten Abend," he said cordially. He removed his gloves and smiled. "How are you this evening, my friend?"

The engineer, not one to be shaken easily curtly replied, "Pretty darn well, if I say so myself… and yo-"

Excitedly the medic interrupted him, "Good, nein, _great!_ And I was wondering, actually, if you could help me with something." He reached into one of the drawers of his desk and slowly turned over the scalpel that was inside, feeling the cool smooth part of the blade with his fingertips.

The engineer, however, ran his fingers over the smooth part of his balding head and smiled. "Buddy, I dunno what you're up to, but I guess-"

"Wunderbar." He dropped the scalpel and instead dug out some scrap papers, laying them on the table and beckoning the engineer over. "Now, if you'll just sign here—ah, perfect." He had no time for informed consent; the Belmont Report didn't exist yet, nor would the medic have cared anyhow.

"Doc, you ain't gonna cut me up and sew me together backwards, right?"

"That's ridiculous, as well as scientifically useless. I was actually wondering if I could test out a new method of healing, should be pleasant and painless. Just sit down on the table over there and I'll be ready in just a moment, ah, yes, roll up your right sleeve if you could…"

The medic dug out his favorite bone saw from the closet, and at the Engineer's nervous sighs added, "Not for you! Ha! Just getting it out of the way!" But he still laid it carefully on the countertop, and then dug out the black hose carrying a crimson gas, which smelled sweet in the same way a dead body does. He grinned broadly, holding the nozzle in his left hand and the saw carefully behind his back in his right.

The engineer laughed a bit, his eyes wide and his hand shaking. "You be careful there, doc, you look a bit excited…" A centrifuge whirred, the medic's boots squeaked noisily as he approached. The dim room was suddenly larger and more sinister than the engineer had previously believed. The high windows let in only a tiny bit of clouded moonlight.

"Yeah, be careful, please, please doc," the engineer pleaded.

"You are a man of science, my friend, a doctor eleven fold, correct? Is not care the first thing they teach us?"

The engineer gave a silent nod, and laid out his wrist on the table. The two men smiled at each other. A thick silence, then a flash of metal.

There was a horrible screech and a quickly growing pool of blood where the engineer's hand used to be. With his intact hand the engineer fumbled for his wrench and weakly tossed it at medic's head, his face ashen.

It landed on the floor with a harsh clink. The medic swerved away from it, then placed a firm hand on the engineer's chest, fiendishly giggling. He switched the hose on, still laughing like a loon. He nudged the severed hand toward its wrist with the bone saw. A few tendons desperately held the two together.

"Are we feeling okay, Herr Engineer?" the medic sneered, before he aimed the primitive Medigun at the wounds. The saccharine corpse smell overtook the engineer, and he laid his head back against the table with a snap and a dumb smile, unable to resist further. The medic's grin widened as well, his face so bathed in glee he looked inhuman.

It _was_ working, oh yes, it definitely was—a layer of muscle rippled across the bone, bonding the hand back to the engineer's arm. It bubbled a bit, the fibers weaving themselves from nothingness to join together. And then the dermis, fleshy and pink wriggled from nowhere to cover the lean red tissue.

The wound continued to heal like this, disgusting to anyone other than the medic himself, until finally the last layer of skin crawled across the gap, sprouting hairs as it went. Any sane man would end the experiment here, and the engineer weakly lifted his head to say so.

"Doc, it worked. Congratulations." His eyes were red and tired, but the fumes prevented him from feeling the excruciating pain resulting from this "medicine". All the better, he supposed. "Doc, you can stop it, everything is fine."

The fumes had a similar effect on the medic: they seemed to deafen him as well. The initial euphoria had died down, but the doctor was still fascinated. The engineer's wrist was back to normal- scarred and sunburnt but entirely intact. Could this miracle gun heal the scars, make the skin as smooth and stretchy as it had been 20 years ago? 30? 40?

Only one way to find out.

The medic removed the nozzle entirely, bathing the joint in red vapor. The skin rippled again, smoothing the scars out like all it needed was a good pressing. Then it began to bubble, stretching and billowing. The fingers began to wriggle on their own accord, sprouting extra joints and the entire hand began to inflate like a fleshy balloon.

With all his strength the engineer sat up and slapped the medic in the face. The hose fell to the ground and his right hand began to steady its growth and become stable. He dropped a steel-toed boot clad foot on the cement floors of this makeshift laboratory. He swung another leg over the table and stood up to stare the medic in the chest.

The medic kicked the hose off and grinned. "It did work, didn't it? I knew it, I knew it would, stimulating the mitochondria to super-human levels, mitosis past what the body would ever allow! It's amazing!" He waited for the engineer to congratulate him, for both to smile and grab a beer together.

But instead the engineer grabbed the bone saw from where it had been lying on the side table and did what he knew he must do.

The grossly oversized and over-digited hand lay on the floor and the engineer said bluntly, "Suture it up doc. I'll see you in the morning."

Still panting like an excited puppy, the medic did as he was told. The engineer made no sounds, but one could almost hear the gears whirring in his brain. He stomped off to his workshop and dug out the plans he had once looked at as useless.

The next morning, there was a sharp knock at the laboratory doorframe, and the engineer leaned just as nonchalantly as he had the last two nights, however, his right hand was covered in a yellow electrical glove.

"Thanks, Doc. Thanks a lot."


End file.
